I never imagined that sadness could weigh this much. The excitement I carried when I left home could crumble so quickly, leaving me empty-handed and with a shattered heart.
When I arrived, I thought I would find opportunities waiting for me, that this new beginning would be the first step toward everything I had dreamed of. But what I saw was a broken place, as worn down as the hope I was still trying to hold on to.
The days have been long, the nights endless. I roam, passing faces that don’t meet my eyes, and doors that close before I can even knock. Hunger is bearable, but loneliness is not. There’s a coldness that doesn’t come from the weather but from the certainty that no one here is waiting for me, that no one speaks my name with warmth, that no one asks how I am.
I feel like a ship lost at sea, battered by a storm that never ends. I have tried to be strong, I swear. I have told myself, over and over again, that every effort is worth it, that luck will change, that I didn’t come all this way just to give up. But tonight, sitting at the edge of a bed that isn’t mine, with the lights off and the echo of my own thoughts filling the silence, I can’t help but wonder if I made a mistake.
I take my phone out of my pocket, my fingers trembling as I type.
"Mom, I know you told me not to give up, but I came to this new country searching for my dreams, and what I found was a devastated place. I feel defeated, drained of strength."
The message is sent. I close my eyes and hold my breath, waiting for something. A reply. A reassurance. A reason not to let myself fall.
The silence is unbearable.
I wrap my arms around myself, searching for warmth in my own body. I take a deep breath. There’s still something inside me that hasn’t completely faded, even if it’s just a faint spark. Maybe this isn’t my last chance. Maybe the pain of today is just the prelude to something better.
But right now, at this moment, all I want is for my mother to tell me that everything will be okay.
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